


Reckless Serenade

by aceholmes



Series: Johnlock Oneshots [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-23
Updated: 2014-10-23
Packaged: 2018-02-22 09:03:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2502155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aceholmes/pseuds/aceholmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'What would you call us?'</p>
<p>(Could be read with 'Orchids or Roses'/Public Announcement from the same series but works as a stand alone too)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reckless Serenade

**Author's Note:**

> An apology 'I won't be writing much until next summer maybe bc school/exams' fluff. I was stressed. I wrote a thing when I couldn't sleep. Eh.  
> At this point idek if it fits with my other fics on the same topic or not. Don't shout at me.  
> (Yes arctic monkeys title. No, nowhere near as badass. I'll do an Arctics greaserlock one day, I have a title in my head and everything).

'What would you call us?'

Sherlock hasn't spoken in over four hours.

'Well, I'm John, and you're Sherlock.' John chuckled, indulging himself in the sight of the detective's brows furrow; it's the first actual facial expression he's shown in hours, too.

'Don't be a smart arse. It doesn't suit you.'

'Oh, it only suits you, does it?'

He was being ignored. Holmes was lay stiffly on the sofa, draped in his sheet like an elegant renaissance painting, with the casual astuteness of an ancient Greek philosopher pondering the secrets of the universe. Although, perhaps the hypothetical philosopher would actually know the odd thing or two about said universe, whilst Sherlock... John wasn't going to go over _that_ again. The detective was taping the tips of his fingers against the bottom of his lily petal lips impatiently, awaiting the answer to some question the doctor couldn't even begin to imagine.

Funny. He had nothing really to think about; they weren't on a case or anything. The last murder had been interesting enough to keep His Majesty content; solved by a hair brush and an indent on the left index finger (the daughter did it).

Sharp, greasy newspaper paper slipped through his fingers as John lowered it from in front of him, pushed his creaky limbs up, and strode over to where Sherlock was lying.

'Budge up.' He tapped a lanky leg and Sherlock bunched up enough for him to slip down onto the leather next to him. The spiky shin pressed against his shoulder felt oddly intimate; the way they fell together like puzzle pieces or the petals of a flower had been obvious even before they entered whatever... whatever you could call a relationship with Sherlock Holmes. Other than brilliant. Amazing. Whole.

'Go on, fill us mere mortals in.'

'I've been thinking.'

'When haven't you?'

Sherlock gave him a look with those liquid eyes that seems to say just how unimpressed he was with being interrupted. A weaker man may have crumbled.

John grinned.

'Well, yes. But as I asked you before, I've been trying to figure out what to call us.

'And I said-'

' _I do not mean our names._ '

'I call you 'love' sometimes, don't I?'

'Yes, yes, you do.'

'So what are you so confused about?' John's hand was lingering over an intensely muscled thigh; coiled, ready to kick out. Sherlock.

'Are we boyfriends? We can't be boyfriends. Teenagers have boyfriends. /Molly/ has boyfriends.'

'Ah, I get it. Lovers?'

'No, too sexual.'

'I suppose.'

'Partner's too ambiguous.'

'Hm.'

'Companion is what one would call a dog, and you're not /that/ stupid-'

'Hey!'

'You know what I mean.'

Sherlock gave him a sly little smile. It could maybe have been flirty, if Sherlock's flirting wasn't so scorching and fervid that it was impossible to mistake it for simple amusement or affection. He heaved himself up so that he was sitting; seeing him sat up straight on this sofa was so rare that John had to blink to check he wasn't fantasising the way each vertebrae of his spine bumped down his tightly cloaked back. It was then, in the split second Watson's eyes were closed, that the curly haired moron next to him decided his extremely precious head needed something to rest upon and, his legs swinging like a Newton's cradle, his fluffy black head thumped down on John's lap.

'Jesus, Sherlock! A little warning next time!'

'Hmpt.'

The apparent human pillow couldn't help be a little pleased, though. The idea that such a wild, highly strung man might trust him enough to allow himself to make himself as vulnerable as he was lying there, with his cheek against the denim of John's jeans, filled him with a kind of warmth none of his girlfriends had never conjured up inside of him. Besides, it meant he could play with the curls. His fingers immediately wove their way amongst the strands; he used to wonder what kind of shampoo Sherlock must use to get them so velvety and obedient. Before he'd gone and showered with the man, that is.

'Still trying to figure it out?'

'It's tougher than I'd anticipated. I've deleted any romantic vocabulary I may have picked up.'

'Of course you have.'

But for all the bickering, the silence that falls wasn't, and will never be, uncomfortable.

Ba dum. Ba dum.

'I have a word.' Sherlock's baritone rumbles against the top of John's thigh.

'What is it?'

'It's not silly, or childish, or raunchy. It's us.'

'What is it, Sherlock?'

The body in his lap vibrated a little. Laughter?

'It's insane.'

'So are we.'

'Do you really want to hear it?'

'God, yes! Just tell me.'

'Husband.'

' _Husband_? Did you just say _husband_?'

'Or, well, fiancé to start off with.'

Talk of insane. 

'Sherlock, are you proposing to me?'

'Probably. I'll admit, I didn't really think it through or anything.'

' _Sherlock_.' John was trembling. 'You can't just, you can't just spring these things on me!'

'Is that a yes?' He imagined the sly smile was back.

'Yes!'

'Good.' Sherlock's body stiffened for a second in thought. 'Do we have to invite Mycroft to the wedding?'

And, John presumed, only Sherlock Holmes would ever propose like this.


End file.
